Time To Go Home
by GABS03
Summary: Draco and Hermione. Aftermath of war story. What happens when the brightest witch of her age is afraid to even touch her wand anymore? What happens when the Malfoy heir himself couldn't give a shit about blood status anymore? What happens when both are looking for someone to lean on? Set three years after the war. A story about healing and forgiveness.
1. Authors Note !

Hello everyone. After thinking about things and the story line I have decided to make a few changes to this story. The chapters will be much longer, but I will be changing a lot of things about the characters. I hope you can bear with me. I want to make this exactly what's in my head and it not really that right now. Although this only has a little bit of support, all the support it has had has been amazing. Much love to everyone who has even bothered to read this far. – G x


	2. Chapter 1: Prologue

**Authors Note:**

**Hello everyone! Here is the new and improved chapter one. Not very long but the other chapters are longer. Thank you for the support. Some of the messages I have received recently have been really lovely and have been a great boost. I also want to address the couple of reviews about Draco's character and Ron and Hermione's relationship. I know that I can't please everyone but I just want to say that I really don't want this to be a 'Ron bashing' fic. Also, I would like to say in response to the worries that Draco is too evil to be loved by Hermione, that In my own opinion, Draco was led astray by his family's beliefs. He was threatened into a lot of things he done in the books (in my own opinion!). Yes, he was a bully, I will give you that, but i believe that there is always a reason for someones actions and that forgiveness is possible in certain situations. That is just my interpretation of Draco's character and i know not everyone will agree. I am going to do my best to give you a good story. Thank you everyone for the responses. - G x**

* * *

Every morning was the same for Hermione. Wake up, tea, get dressed, get going. After the war, things got tough for everyone. Despite the victory that came with the fall of Voldemort, no one could forget the devastating losses everyone experienced. Fred, Tonks, Remus - the list of casualties goes on. Hermione had lost her parents. It seemed she had hidden them too well, to the point where she couldn't even find them. She had no one to lean on. Harry- the boy who lived twice- Potter was busy trying to ward off the press and have a normal life while living in the aftermath of war. She didn't know how he stayed so strong when he had lost so much. He even defended the classmates who had fought against him- Draco Malfoy, for example – and spoke at their trails, saving them from who knows how many years in Azkaban. Ronald and the rest of the Weasley's, although they tried hard to treat Hermione as a member of the family, were busy trying to keep their actual family from falling apart after they lost Fred. Everyone was too busy with their own heartbreak to even notice Hermione's slow, meteoric decline until it was all too much. A couple of months filled with grief, 'Golden Trio' headlines and grossly rude reporters following you everywhere you go can do crazy things to the mind and Hermione knew it was best to get herself out while she still could. If she was going to be alone, she would do it somewhere where no one knew her name. A few months after the war, around the end of August, Hermione packed up and moved to Paris. A drastic change- yes - but the busy bustle of Paris and the normality of muggle life eased the pain that was cemented into her heart and allowed her to pretend to be someone else for a little while.

For nearly two years, her routine remained the same. There was comfort were there was a routine. She got herself a job in a little café in the centre of town and that's where she spent most of her time. She took to writing down the things she saw and took pictures on a muggle camera, so she could treasure these moments of peace forever. However, as the third anniversary of the war was approaching and the pang of loneliness still ached in her heart, Hermione decided perhaps going back home wasn't such a bad idea. She received constant letters from Harry keeping her updated on how things were. She really did miss seeing her best friend. Ron, on the other hand, had not spoken to her since she left. He was angry with her. Angry at her for leaving and angry that it didn't work out between them. They had tried to form some sort of relationship after the war was over, but they were both in too much pain for her to fully open her broken heart up to him. There was no way he could fix it. They had spent nights together, giving each other everything, the comfort of his embrace got her through the night but in the morning, everything was still the same, the pain was still there.

She dragged herself out of bed to finish up the last of her packing. She carefully placed all her books in boxes-the muggle way- and sealed them up securely to keep them safe. She didn't have many things, she left a lot at home, knowing she would have to return home at one point. She sighed as she slid open a drawer in her bedside table and was greeted with the sight of her wand. She couldn't remember the last time she had even used it. Magic was tainted for her now that she seen the destruction is could cause. She couldn't bear to think about the things her wand had done - the wand that had spat out unforgivable curses and caused pain. The wand that stole her parents' memories from them. She frowned and quickly tossed it into one of her bags and zipped it up quickly. The girl who was once the brightest witch of her age, now wasn't able to use a wand without feeling the tugging pain in her chest. She was now the girl afraid of her own magic.

As she brought all her things into the living room to have transported back to London, she looked around at her little apartment and sighed.

"Time to go home…" she murmured to herself.

* * *

Draco thought once his father was dead and buried things would get easier for him but two years after the war, that certainly wasn't the case. His father had died nearly a year ago. It seemed Azkaban had broken him, he just went insane. He struggled to eat or sleep or talk. It was painful to watch, but even more painful to watch his mother at his bedside, holding his hand. It was truly amazing she was still there to hold his hand, despite everything his father had put their family through. Draco was angry. Really fucking angry. His father done this to him. His father left him in this mess. He had no respect anymore. People sneered at him when he walked down the street. It wasn't Draco's fault. He was forced into this life. Forced to follow Voldemort. Forced to bear the mark on his arm, that branded him evil.

Draco was also bitter. Really fucking bitter. All his life he was told he was better than people like Potter. People like Hermione Granger. He was told his blood was pure, that he was the best. But he had been doubting all of this since the end of the war. As much as it hurt his ego to admit it, Potter saved his backside. Without Potter's plea during Draco's trail, Draco would have been charged with attempted murder and involvement with death eaters. He wold never understand why Potter done that for him. But he couldn't help but think he wasn't as much of a prick as he thought. And then there was Granger. He remembered seeing her, sprawled on the floor of the old Malfoy manor, her blood pooling around the arm his aunt had used as a canvas. There was nothing different about her blood to his. No mud, no filth. It was the exact same deep scarlet red- and there was so much of it. The memory still haunted him. This made Draco even more angry and even more bitter. What the fuck was he supposed to believe now? Everything that he had been raised to believe had been contradicted by those pests he loathed at school. Potter had shown him mercy. Granger had shown him that her blood was the same as his.

Draco tried to keep himself to himself. With hard work, he managed to get himself a job in the Ministry, doing paperwork and writing letters, but eventually he managed to work his way up and became an Auror- although, he wasn't taken very seriously, branded as a "known death eater" to most of his colleagues. It wasn't really a necessary income, but it kept him busy and away from his mother, because he couldn't face seeing the woman's tired and broken eyes. The only thing keeping his mother from losing the plot was her never ending effort to try and free the Malfoy name from its negative ties, but Draco knew that was never going to happen. He truly sympathised with his mother. She never wanted any of this. Draco knew the damage was not fixable, it never would be – it was _way _too far beyond that.

Draco left his London flat and apparated to work. Him and his mother both moved out of the manor, her into a quiet cottage outside of London and himself into a flat in a quiet part of London where little attention could be drawn to himself. He thought back to just after the war. When reporters swarmed the streets, yelling questions and hurling insults at him. Over the past couple of years that had died down. He could freely walk the streets of wizarding London without any abuse however he knew his name would never be clean. His mother had tried to get him married off to any pure-blooded girl she could find, but he didn't want that. How could he dare tarnish anyone with the burden that was now the Malfoy name? It was a fate worse than death really to have this name.

Draco stepped in the elevator and was met with his reflection in the big mirror. He had really grown up these past couple of years. His jaw was sharper, his shoulders larger. His hair was a little longer and he refrained from the harsh gel styling he tended to sport in his school days. He fixed his tie as he stepped out of the elevator and went to his little cubical with his desk. He didn't really speak to anyone here. He kept himself to himself. Once he reached his desk he got started on his work- research and paperwork to be exact. Not really the most exciting job in the world of an Auror but he was in the low ranks- only a junior. He hoped eventually he would work his way up and be able to actually work on cases. Time went by quickly as it usually did when he was absorbed in his work. He sighed and packed away his things into his briefcase, dreading the idea of going home. It was what reminded him he was well and truly alone. He had no one to lean on. His mother was getting crazier as the days went on and he didn't really have any friends. He rolled his eyes at himself- he was turning into a weak little Hufflepuff. He slipped on his coat and patted his pocket to make sure he had his wand.

"Time to go home…" he murmured to himself.


End file.
